The Supremacy
by redraposo
Summary: As a C.I.A agent, you knew better than anyone that life never had a specific plan. So when you were sent out to Naples to retrieve a 'highly dangerous criminal', you had no idea that what and whom you would come face-to-face to would ultimately spiral your life out of control, rekindle old feelings and force long forgotten memories to bubble to the surface.
1. Chapter 1

The Supremacy

Hey there guys! :) This is my second story that I'm working on, and the idea sparked from when I was watching 'The Bourne Supremacy' last night. But anyway, I really hope you enjoy it! :)

DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Bourne series or any of its characters.

SUMMERY: As a C.I.A agent, you knew better than anyone that life never had a specific plan. So when you were sent out to Naples to retrieve a 'highly dangerous criminal', you had no idea that what and whom you would come face-to-face to would ultimately spiral your life out of control, rekindle old feelings and force long forgotten memories to bubble to the surface.

That's when your life became more focused.

(Set in the time of 'The Bourne Supremacy')

Chapter 1: Naples, Italy

Sweat coated your skin and shimmered in the setting sun. You were nervous. Or maybe that was the wrong word to use. Well you were apprehensive at the least. You had no reason to be, however. You had worked for the C.I.A for over 10 years and been on countless assignments before. You were confident in your rapid assault skills and your precise application of lethal force was useful when it came to dangerous situations. Right now all you had to be good at was waiting. But the heat of a summer night in Italy and your black BMW z4 had attracted much more humidity from the sun than you had originally intended. Which made waiting a pain in the ass.

The fact that you had been sent with only a few details in mind made you wary. The C.I.A was thorough in preparing their assassins to the highest degree. They took no risks, no chances and no gambles. When they wanted something done, they made sure it _would_ _get done_, and they made sure it was done right. So when they sent you on a mission with the only information being a brief characteristics check, the skill level of the criminal and the fact that he had killed two major political figures had you worried beyond belief. There was clearly something they didn't want you to know about this guy. Either that or if anything happened to you, they didn't want their hands getting dirty.

You scowled to yourself as you looked out the driver's window. The parking lot of the airport was busy and the sun had almost set; casting long and looming figures along the streets of Naples. You had been told to find this guy by whatever means necessary, so you had used everything in your utensils to get him, and your trail had lead you here. He was scheduled to catch a flight out of the country, but you knew that as soon as he handed over his passport, his details would send up red flags to every known agency in most of Europe and the U.S. That would make your job much easier. They would detain him. There was no doubt about that. All you had to do was bide you time and judge correctly when he would be in that certain detainment room.

You opened the door of your sports car and stepped out. Four hours seemed long enough. Your pace was quick and you soon arrived at the entrance to the airport. Pushing open the door, you gave a quick look behind you to register if anyone was following you. No one. That was a good sign. Your boot clad feet made harsh military sounds as you pushed your way through the crowds, coming to a stop in front of official looking guards. You flashed them a fake I.D, one that would be impossible to call as fake - the C.I.A made sure of that – and they lead you down a corridor, through another terminal, and finally into a small office, where a young woman sat behind a desk, her hands whizzing along on the computer keyboard. The guards left you both alone.

"Ciao, mi chiamo–" she cut you off quickly, not looking up from her computer screen once.

"You are Miss. (_l/n_), are you not?" You scoffed silently at her brashness. If she had any idea who you really were, she would have sprinted from the room quicker than you can say 'assassin'. You put on a calm face.

"Yes, I am." You paused to flash her a fake smile, "I am here to interrogate the criminal you currently have in holding, my department has been on his case for several years and-"

"I.D, please." she cut you off again. You were beginning to get pissed off with how she was treating you. So you shoved the I.D under her nose and smiled sweetly.

"Here you go." She quickly took it from you, her small eyes scanning over the identification before she handed it back to you.

"Whenever you are ready, he is in there." She pointed to a room to her left.

"Who else is in there, already?" You said, curious to who you would have to kick out in the next few seconds.

She sighed, apparently annoyed at your love of questioning, "Just a guard, Miss."

"Then get him out." She shot you a confused expression, so you elaborated, "I do not want any potential confessions to be shared with the public at this crucial time in our investigation and to be frank, this is my detainee. I have no doubt that he will behave while I am around." She nodded briefly, before picking up a walkie-talkie and telling the guard in the other room that the police officer was here now to arrest the criminal and that he could come out now. You smirked, and wondered slightly what your life would be like if you were really a police officer. A few seconds later, a mean looking guard stepped out and nodded at you as he passed. You thanked the young woman and strode over to the door, snatching your I.D from her desk as you passed. You were conscious to hide the pistol that was strapped to your thigh from her sight, so you pulled your black trench coat tighter around you. As your hands closed around the door knob, you silently took a breath, before pushing the door open and stepping inside the room.

It was well lit, and contained a potted plant in the corner, one white table and two well-used chairs. Your eyes were on the floor as you took off your trench coat and slung it over the chair opposite the felon.

"Hello, sir." You knew he was American, that was one of the very few things they told you about him, so you knew he could speak English, "They may have told you that I am here to arrest you," your eyes travelled up the chair and across the table to where the man was sitting, "Perhaps I am here to do that…" Your eyes flickered up his torso, "But perhaps I am not…" You smirked at your failed attempt to be menacing and decided to cut all the bullshit and just take him back to headquarters in chains. You stepped around the table and looked at his face.

You let out a gasp, and stumbled back a few feet, causing his eyes to briefly hold yours, before they went back to staring at the floor like he had been taught to.

"J-Jason?" You questioned your voice barely above a whisper. This couldn't be Jason Bourne in front of you. He had trained, fought and won beside you in action. He was supposed to be dead. He had been dead for two years. Or so they had told you. You glared at the floor. They wanted Bourne back. For whatever reason, maybe to kill him, maybe to regain him as one of their elite, you didn't know. All you knew was what they had done to you: made you work tirelessly for months to track him, making you use every fibre of your being to capture him, lying to you so they could only benefit themselves - they were going to pay. You were going to give everything you had and make it so they never saw Jason Bourne again. Your vision went blurry, but you were trained to never let emotions get the better of you. You snapped your fingers in front of his eyes, making him glare up at you.

"Jason, it's me." His eyes lost some of their anger and were replaced by confusion and then frustration, "Jason-"

"I don't know you." He spat, eyes never leaving the floor. You narrowed your own.

"Don't give me this bullshit, Bourne." He slowly turned his head towards you and allowed his eyes to study your face.

"Look," He whispered in his harsh tone you were all too familiar with, "I've never seen you in my life, but I promise you this lady, if you try and stop me leaving, I will hurt you." You were really confused now. Why the hell didn't he remember you? Was this some sort of sick joke?

"You… don't remember me at all?" He shook his head slowly, a reserved expression on his face, "I was your partner. We took missions together when you worked with the C.I.A." He shook his head. "You assassinated the Russian politician, Vladimir Neski?" He narrowed his eyes and shook his head more violently, which angered you that all of his past with you, all of your emotions and feelings were long forgotten. You slammed your hands onto the table, "Treadstone?!" You shouted, how could he not remember?

Bourne shot you a reserved glare and stood up from the table abruptly.

"Remember my warning," he said and strode to the door. You lept from the table and placed yourself in front of the door, blocking his exit, your face, now only inches from his.

"The Jason I knew would never hurt me." His eyes locked with yours for what seemed like forever, until you had to break his gaze.

"You know about my life?" He shot, you nodded. "You know about my personality, my Job, my_ past?_" You nodded again just as realisation set in. The C.I.A would be on their way here right now, and if they found you with Bourne not in cuffs, you would be in very deep shit. That's when your brilliant mind gave you an idea. You grabbed his arm and smirked.

"I'm getting you out of here."


	2. Chapter 2

Hello again! :) This is the second chapter to my story 'The Supremacy' and I hope you enjoy it :)

**Thank you to all who took the time to favourite/follow this story. It makes me really happy that you all like it so much :) Review if you life :) Without further ado, please enjoy!**

Fugitives

It was easy; far too easy. And all this time you had thought airport security was supposed to be of the highest standard. Yet, here you were, just waltzing out of the building with another super assassin at your side. Of course, escaping wasn't without its difficulties. You did have to take out that annoying secretary. Her screams were muffles by the arm of your trench coat, and soon she wasn't screaming at all. Jason watched you with the slightest hint of fascination before he resumed occupying himself with the upcoming task: eliminating the two guards who had heard her screams. You watched as he easily took down two heavily armed men larger than himself. It seemed that after all these years, what they teach you really does sink in. You both kept your heads down as you exited the room and jogged along the corridors – you lead the way, and he followed silently. Soon you were both strolling out of the airport with no one coming to stop you. It was all too easy.

You jogged through the car park, swerving in and out of cars until you found your own.

"Get in." You ordered, swiftly jerking the driver's door open.

"Is this your own car?" He was hesitating to open the door.

"Yes. There are no trackers in it; I've made sure of it." You placed your elbow on the roof of the car and leaned on it. Jason was eying the car suspiciously.

"How can I trust you?" He asked slowly. It was a good question, but you didn't have time to answer him fully.

"Just get in." He glared at you for a few seconds, clearly weighing up the opportunities of the situation. You sighed in annoyance.

"Get. In. The car." You spat. He was always so stubborn. You slid into the seat and slammed the door shut. Several seconds later, Jason stepped into the car next to you and buckled his seat belt. You rummaged through your handbag at the bottom of the car, searching for your cell phone, mp3 player, tablet anything that has internet connection or is a utensil that the C.I.A gave you. You opened your window, and threw it all onto the street below. Every last thing. You turned the key in the ignition and let the engine roar to life. You shifted into reverse and slammed your foot on the accelerator; spinning out of the parking space. As soon as you were clear of any other vehicles, you shifted into 'drive' and sped off. You were anxious to get out of the airport, knowing that would be the first place they would check. It was a good thing you were familiar with the driving system in Italy; it allowed you to drive that much faster. That much faster away from _them_. Away from everything you had gotten yourself into. And the more you drove away, the more you came to realise that you were partly responsible for getting Jason into this mess. You had helped track him down. Hell, you were solely responsible for tracking him down. No one had helped you. You thought you were helping your country, but instead you were helping the wrong team. You were _on_ the wrong side. Jason could have been happy. He could have still been happy if it weren't for you. You found out through local intelligence that the criminal that was Jason was living in India. You found out what was possibly the most valuable piece of information. _He was in love_. That was a rookie mistake. Everyone at the C.I.A knew that. If you were in love, you could be easily hurt. If you were in love, you were stupid, but mostly you were ignorant. Putting those you care about at risk. You sympathised with him though; something you were taught never to feel. It looked as if someone else had found out too. Someone who wanted to hurt him. So they killed her. A shot right to the head, quickest way to kill with limited collateral damage. You were ashamed to admit it, but someone had gotten there before you. And as ashamed as you might be, you were _impressed_. It sickened you to confess it, but you were. Jason and his partner were travelling at an approximate 60-70mph in a moving vehicle; swerving constantly in and out of traffic. The shot made was over half a mile away. It was… impressive. It was also interesting. No ordinary civilian could have made that shot. That left you with the sense that someone trained in military or sniper skills was there to do your job for you. You were intrigued as to who sent him, and why _he_ was there if clearly it was your assigned preliminary target.

He had forgotten everything. You wondered slightly if that was your fault too. You scowled to yourself. _It was your fault_. Perhaps it had always been your fault. Your mind was becoming clouded with buried secrets that you had attempted to cover for years, and now it was all being raked to the surface. So you did the only thing you could do. You drove on in silence.

It must have been hours before he spoke, but you were ready for the question you knew he would drop eventually.

"Who am I?" It was almost a whisper, but you heard it. For a second, you didn't know if it was even aimed at you.

"Isn't it obvious?" You whispered back through gritted teeth. You just wanted to confess that the reason he was here and running for his life was entirely the fault of the person sitting next to him.

"They murdered her," he looked towards you with a livid anger in his voice, "They murdered Marie."

You cringed as you stared out of the window. '_I was there to kill her too, Jason.'_

You continue to drive on in silence. Your eyes flashed to his hands every few seconds. He would clench his fists, unclench them and clench them again. After a long pause you decided to speak. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" His tone was mutual. Though you thought you heard a slight hint of interest within.

"For everything Jason" You knew he wouldn't understand, and a part of you didn't want him too. All you hoped was that he would be the Jason you knew, and just accept your blurted apology - no matter what it was for. He looked at you slightly, before nodding curtly. You smiled meekly, but you were disgusted with yourself. He deserved the truth, but you could only give him the closest thing to it.

"Why do you think you can run for miles without getting tired, Jason? Why do you think that you can speak more than one language fluently, with no prior memory of having ever studied it? The way you can look at someone – only if it's for a few seconds – and determine their fighting strategy, how long they will fight for and what kind of weapon they would use?" He narrowed his eyes, confusion clear on his face. You gave him a 'kick' – a mental stimulus to help provoke the return of some form of a memory, "This is not a drill soldier. Training is over." His head snapped up. His eyes wide. He shook his head slightly, his mouth open.

"Why fight the body when you can dominate the mind that rules it, right?" You smirked at him. He didn't smirk back, so you just kept driving. In total silence.


	3. Chapter 3

Okay, this is so overdue. I'm really sorry that I didn't upload/write this sooner. But, now that I know a lot of you like it, the updates will be so much quicker from now on. I promise.

**Please don't hesitate to PM me if there is anything you would like to see included in this story other than the plot of the movie itself :) But, please enjoy this chapter.**

Markings

It wasn't ever easy. There could never be a time when you were just… good. There could never be a time when you had opted to do the good thing – the right thing. Granted, you were a decent person. Or that's what you had told yourself countless times. That doesn't make it true though. Maybe because it wasn't true. Maybe you were just a bad person. Maybe-

"What happened to you?"

You snapped out of your inner war and turned to Jason. He had been quiet for a long time after you had given him the helpful hint as to who and what he was.

"What?" You didn't catch what he had asked.

"While I was off in India, where no one could find me, what happened to you?" You didn't know what he was getting at.

"I was still with the C.I.A, why?"

He looked out of the window and nodded slightly. You furrowed your eyebrows. Why was he so concerned with what you had been doing? You concentrated on the road, watching lights from the overhead lampposts speed by.

"Was it you?" He blurted suddenly. You could almost feel the colour drain from your face. _Now? Why is he asking me this now?!_ Jason wanted to know if it was your fault that he was running, fleeing for his life, while his girlfriend was shot down in cold-blood and what answer could you give him? If you didn't give a good answer soon, Jason was likely to assume that you _were_ the one tracking him, and giving details of his whereabouts in India back to the C.I.A HQ and you dreaded to think how angry he would be. Or what he would do. You had seen Jason in action, and you knew better than anyone how deadly he could be – even with simple weapons. You eyed the pen on the dashboard with frantic eyes.

"Why do you want to know?" You snapped, "I'm here now, aren't I? I'm helping you escape with your life intact. What I do is none of your business." He glanced at you suspiciously before staring out of the window again.

"Was it you?" He repeated, more demanding this time, "Was it you who found me? Was it you who told them I was in India?" His tone was more aggressive each time he asked a different question, "Was it you who shot –"

"No." You cut him off bluntly. He shot you a stifled glare.

"Then why don't I believe you?"

"You don't need to believe me Jason, and I don't care if you don't either, but just be thankful that I'm helping you out, okay?" Your grip on the steering wheel tightened, and Jason seemed to realise something that you didn't: your speed was quickly increasing on the motorway.

"Slow down." He warned. You pressed your foot harder against the pedal.

"Why should I? Were both murderers and were both ruthless people. If we died right here, right now, the world would probably be a much better place, wouldn't it?" He didn't answer you and you could almost swear you saw a worried expression flicker across his face as you swerved in and out of traffic, quickly overtaking them. You laughed cynically as you almost hit a black SUV, "I don't see why were bothering to run, Jason." You pushed harder against the accelerator.

"I said slow down!" he lunged for the wheel as you let go, leaving him to steer the car from the passenger seat.

"Are you crazy!" he shouted, swerving aimlessly among cars, and trying desperately not to crash. People in nearby cars were honking, some even shouting curses and warnings to you, but you paid no attention. Jason struggled to keep the car under control, and it seemed as if you had slipped into a daze.

"That's it!" Jason let go of the wheel, and threw his hands round the handbrake. He yanked it up and the car started to tip, making a horrible guttural noise. Snapping out of your trance, and realising the car could flip if immediate action wasn't take, you slammed your foot on the brake, causing the BMW to turn slightly but screech to a safe halt. Cars behind you were going crazy but you paid no attention. You were much more concerned with what you had just allowed yourself to do. Jason looked as if he was livid with anger as your heavy breathing filled the car.

"I-I'm so sorry, Jason!" You quickly came to your senses and realised you had been momentarily suicidal, "I didn't mean to do that, I don't know what came over me –"

"Get out of the car." Jason snapped, automatically making you shrink into your seat. You did as you were told. He got out of the passenger's seat, and slid into the driver's position. You bowed your head and walked round to take your seat as the now 'passenger' of your own car.

"From now on, I'm driving." He spat, putting your car into gear and unlocking the handbrake with an agressive movement, slamming the bar down.

"Okay." you mumbled, looking out of the window in silence just as Jason had done minutes before. He drove swiftly away with ease, clearly wanting to escape the crowd of cars and people that were beginning to surround you. It was quite awkward from then on. Jason only concentrated on the road before him, while you opened your mouth a few times, but, in the end, decided on staying quiet. You nearly jumped out of your skin when he spoke.

"What's your name?" He seemed less angry, though you knew if you gave him any short or snappy answers at a time like this, he might just kill you.

"Er," You had to think for a second; only just remembering yourself that he knew nothing about you, "(_f/n_) (_l/n_)."

"So how do you know so much about me?" This wasn't just a normal conversational starter, he was after more information.

"Take the next exit here." You stated bluntly, just realising where you should be going.

"Why, where are we going?" you pointed across him to the exit now coming up.

"Get into that lane, and take the exit Jason." You looked at him; his eyes holding yours challengingly, before he did what you asked. A few more minutes passed as you continued to look at the clock on the dashboard. It was just going on eleven at night. That means you had another 10 hours to drive before you reached where _they_ would be heading. Where you _felt_ you should be heading. It was probably stupid to keep the tracking device – the one hidden safely under the hood of the car, but you wanted to know where they would be, and who they would be sending on the job. It would allow your targets to be easier to track down, and for Jason, revenge was never closer.

"Berlin."

"Who?"

"Berlin, Germany." You looked at him, "That's where were going."

You later came to realise that Jason never questioned why the hell you were on your way to Berlin, but a part of you felt that he knew something was waiting for him there. Maybe it was his past but maybe something else. Whatever it was, _he_ felt he should be heading there as well.


	4. Chapter 4

**This is a kind of two part chapter :P Sorry, but the second half will be up soon, I assure you! :)**

Any reviews would be greatly appreciated :)

Foreshadowing

_You ran. Faster than you ever thought you could. You stumbled. Fell down into the dirt, mud staining your face and body. You turned; whipping around to face your fears. To face death. So this was how you're going to die? Your hunter leered over you, raising their blade in an arched stance. They struck you. They attacked you. Your predator. Your demon. Your Jason._

You screamed – and awoke from the dream. Jason startled beside you; hands gripping the edges of his seat. You panted loudly, beads of sweat forming on your forehead and temples. It was only a dream, but it felt so real. You never had such vivid dreams. Your eyes darted around frantically, desperately trying to take in the surroundings, and as you looked, you realised you had stopped moving.

"Where are we?!" You panicked; hands reaching for the door handles.

"Calm down. Were at a motel." Jason rubbed his head with his hands and repositioned himself on the car seat.

"Why have we stopped?" You checked the clock on the dashboard. _3:37am_. You had fell asleep for nearly 4 hours, "How long have we been here for?" You felt the panic rise within you again. If you had stopped for more than 3 hours that would mean that _they_ wouldn't be far away. If they tracked you correctly – which they would – then they would almost certainly send specialised field officers to reprimand you and a tired out Jason, and by their standards, reprimand would mean detain. Or worse. That was something you didn't want to chance – especially not in this state.

"Since 2. We're 3 hours outside the border of Germany. Now go to sleep." He flicked up the fold of his jumper to cover his neck, placed his hand around his waist and dozed off. In the struggle of decisions within your mind, in the tense and dangerous situation that you were now currently amongst, you couldn't help but think of the _old_ Jason, and how he would do exactly the same. You smiled slightly. How could he have changed so much, and yet not changed at all?

"I'm sorry, but we have to keep moving." You mumbled, waiting for him to move. You watched him and noticed how peaceful he looked; the slow rise and fall of his chest, his deep and regulated breaths, how his eyelids would flutter sometimes or how he seemed like such a normal guy. You shook yourself. He was asleep, that's all.

"Jason!" You whispered harshly. He flung his eyes open and glared at you.

"What?" He scorned; eyes boring into yours. You felt lost suddenly. Whenever he was the slightest bit mad at you, you lost all track of what was right or wrong – all your sense of morals would just suddenly disappear and you had no idea why.

"Er…" You looked away, "We need to keep moving if we're going to stay ahead of them." He sighed – and not the tired sigh, a_ laboured_ sigh; the kind that your parents would make if you had done something terribly wrong. You hated that about him; how he could make you feel so weak and worthless. He could always screw with your perception of reality.

"Fine." He growled, and started the car with a jerking motion. You tried to lighten the mood:

"Do you want me to drive so you can–"

"No." He cut you off sharply, "Not after what happened last time. I'm not stupid." But you ended up making things worse.

You glared at the floor, readjusting your seat belt as Jason drove the car out of the parking lot and turned onto the highway. He didn't always have to be sharp with you. He never _used to_.

With your head against the cold surface of the window, you let your eyes follow the streetlights as they passed. Every lamp held an orb of light – sometimes illuminating signposts as you passed. You watched them with a faint hint of interest and as you passed, you would read each of them; checking for your upcoming destination. You had – while waging war with yourself – decided to visit an old _friend_ in Munich. You hoped Jason wouldn't object too much to you wanting to stop off. Perhaps if you told him it was something that directly linked to his past then maybe he would be willing to stop in as well. If everything went to plan, this would turn out better than you could have hoped. You glanced sideways as Jason. If only he knew what it felt like to get even; to teach those who have caused you pain and misery what it really meant to hurt. A somewhat devious smirk flickered across your face. He would know soon.

_Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged._


End file.
